Angel Burn Read Free Page B

intently, taking in every word. “An alternate path?” she repeated. “What do you mean?”
    I thought about it as I tightened the nuts a bit at a time, keeping the pressure on the carburetor even. “It’s like  . . .  you know, you have choices in your life. And sometimes I can see several choices unfolding and what might happen with each one. But they’re not all going to happen, because you’ll only choose one of them.”
    Beth nodded slowly. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I need help with,” she said, almost to herself. “Choices.” She glanced back at the school. “Well — would you read me sometime?” she asked in a rush. “Like — soon?”
    I blinked at the thought of Beth in my house — the two really didn’t seem to go together — but then I shrugged. “Sure, OK. How about tomorrow after school? No, wait a minute — how about Thursday?” I had forgotten for a second that the caregiver was leaving early the next day, and I’d promised Aunt Jo I’d get home on time to take care of Mom. I gave Beth my address.
    “I’ll be there,” said Beth fervently. Some of her yearbook committee friends had started coming out of the school building behind her by then. Hugging her bag to her chest, she moved off to join them. “And, Willow — thanks,” she called softly over her shoulder.
    I stared after her, feeling bemused. I guess I should know better than to pigeonhole people — if being psychic has taught me anything, it’s that you
really
never know what kind of thoughts people might have bubbling away like witches’ cauldrons under the surface of their ordinary lives — but even so, Beth Hartley.
Strange,
I thought as I tightened the final nut.
    Nina reappeared, her expression practically bursting with
Tell me everything!
    “She wants a reading,” I said, to ward off the inevitable.
    “I
knew
it!” exclaimed Nina. “I could just tell, the way she was acting all furtive.” She shook her head, looking dazed. “God. I can’t believe that Beth Hartley even believes in that junk.”
    Nina is about the least imaginative, most prosaic person in the entire world and is convinced that anything psychic is a con. Not that she thinks
I’m
a con, necessarily. Just that I’m conning myself. Being dramatic, making things up without realizing it, getting carried away — that sort of thing. She thinks I should be an actress, because I’m obviously so in tune with my inner child. It’s sort of amazing that we’re even friends, really. But I’ve known her since I was nine, which is when Mom and I first moved to Pawtucket to live with Aunt Jo, and I guess we’ve just gotten to be a habit with each other.
    Nina was peering in under the hood at me, shaking her head. “Willow, you do know that you should stop all this psychic stuff, don’t you? Half the school thinks you’re a witch.”
    My cheeks grew warm. “Well, that’s not
my
fault,” I muttered. I was almost finished, which was a good thing, because Nina was really starting to irritate me.
    “It
is
your fault,” Nina insisted. “You don’t have to keep doing readings, do you? No, you don’t! Here’s a radical thought — just say no the next time someone asks.”
    I didn’t say anything as I put Nina’s air filter back in place. Distantly, I could hear the football team still practicing on the field, their shoulder pads thudding against each other. “I can’t do that,” I said finally, straightening up from the car. I wiped my hands clean and started putting my tools away.
    “Why?”
screeched Nina in exasperation.
    I spun to face her. “Because people have problems, Nina! All kinds of problems, and I think maybe — I think maybe I help them.”
    “Oh, my God, Willow, you are
seriously
deluded if you think —” Nina broke off as I grabbed my jacket and slammed her hood shut.
    “Here,” I said, tossing her keys at her. “You’ve got to prime it before you drive it again — give the gas a few pumps first.” Before